


Holstered

by Medie



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holstered

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://perdiccas.livejournal.com/profile)[**perdiccas**](http://perdiccas.livejournal.com/)'s Kink Meme.

Matt forgets. Mohinder notices. It's a long day in the middle of a heatwave. Summer in the city is bad enough, summer in the city with superpowers is downright hell. It's probably why he forgets, by the time he lets himself into the loft, he's tired, sore, and rattled. Too many minds pushing at his, the commute home a rush of screaming thoughts, simmering irritation, and the odd road rager.

He doesn't like letting Molly see the gun. She's been through enough. Seeing his badge is one thing, that's a comfort, seeing his gun is a reminder. That's why, the first thing through the door, he locks it up.

The kind of intruders they're worried about guns are useless with anyway.

Today, he forgets. He doesn't notice at first. He dumps the files he brought home, tosses his coat on top of them, and heads to the fridge for a drink. He's opening a bottle of water, cold and slick to the touch, when he senses he's being watched.

Doesn't take telepathy though, that kind of scrutiny's obvious. Idly, he wonders if this is what a deer feels like.

"Hey Mohinder."

Mohinder doesn't say anything, crossing the room silently on bare feet. Not that it matters. The images filling Matt's mind talk loud and clear.

He puts the water back in the fridge, closing the door with deliberate calm. Anticipation slides fire along his spine, eager for the first moment that Mohinder's mouth touches leather. Who knew the good professor had a holster fetish?

Leaning forward, Matt presses his forehead against the refrigerator door. His breathing hesitates, stutters, stays uneven as Mohinder explores. Fingertips trace the line of the leather, tug at the edge of his t-shirt, never linger too long. One hand slides downward, leaving the center of his back, hooking into the edge of his jeans.

He's overheated from the long day, boiling sun, and a couple street chases. When Mohinder's slender fingers, hot and eager, touch his equally hot skin, Matt squirms. He feels himself harden, uncomfortable trapped in the denim, and Mohinder laughs.

"Poor baby," he says, speaking for the first time. "Do you need a hand with that?" His hand moves, circling around to press against Matt's cock, pushing against him through the jeans.

Matt grunts, his eyes closing as he rocks into the touch. "Wouldn't hurt. Since when do you think gun holsters are hot?"

"Since you started wearing them," says Mohinder. His lips skim Matt's ear, sliding down onto his neck. When his tongue flicks lightly against sweaty skin, Matt's ready to wear the damn holster 24-7. "You should see yourself, Matt, you make quite the picture." Amusement hums through his voice as Mohinder pushes against him, fingers finally tugging down Matt's zipper. "What you must look like at work. I imagine an interrogation must be -- "

He trails off, leaving Matt with the painfully sharp image of himself in an interrogation room, with Mohinder at – and then on – a table. He bites his lip, getting harder, watching Mohinder's fantasy play out in his head.

_Fuck._

When his fantasy self bends Mohinder over the table to fuck him slowly, one arm stretched past him, pressing the holster into his back, Matt almost loses it.He's not sure what's hotter: the idea that this is Mohinder's fantasy, or the how long he's been thinking about it?

His cock decides it doesn't care, it's fucking amazing either way.

Matt can't argue with that.

He opens his eyes to Mohinder working his jeans down his legs, sinking to his knees. They lock gazes for a moment, Matt getting lost in Mohinder's eyes, the want he finds there catching him up. Matt loves Mohinder's eyes. He's the most amazing man that Matt's ever seen, but all of that's nothing compared to his eyes.

Matt can find everything in them, including a version of himself that's a stranger to him. A stranger he'd very much like to be.

Mohinder breaks the contact, closing his eyes in that first instant that Matt's cock passes his lips, then resumes it. He stares steadily at Matt, eyes fixed on him, as he sucks him, all the while that image playing out in his head.

It's hard to remember which one is real and when the Mohinder in his head, the one pressed against a metal table half-naked and begging for more, comes with a strangled cry, so does Matt.

Mohinder's standing before him, grinning, when Matt can think clearly again. He looks so pleased with himself, smug and satisfied, cock hard and straining against his own pants, that Matt can't stop the laughter.

"Loon," he says, kissing Mohinder. It's almost a chaste kiss, a gentle brushing of lips to lips. "What else are you hiding in that head of yours?"

Mohinder laughs, sliding arms around Matt, rubbing his cock against Matt's thigh. "Come to bed and you'll find out."

Matt shakes his head. "Shower first." He twists one of Mohinder's curls around his finger. "You're not the only one with a fetish."


End file.
